


Ruinous Repose

by whatacartouchebag



Series: Fair Game Week 2020 [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, a small chunk of innuendo and naughtiness is mentioned, fairgameweek2020, nothing too explicit tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23183830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatacartouchebag/pseuds/whatacartouchebag
Summary: Day Two Challenge - DomesticHow does one awaken a sleeping bird on a frosty winter morning? The promise of food is a wonderful start. Coffee is a blissful second.It also helps immensely if you're the warmest thing in the room.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Fair Game Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665535
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	Ruinous Repose

**Author's Note:**

> Day two YEAH!! This was probably one of my favourite pieces to write, as it's just them being soft and comfortable around each other. And maybe a little devious. Just a tad.
> 
> If you follow me on tumblr at all, you may recall me having the arrow-to-the-forehead moment of one of my FGW pieces potentially being an off-shoot to And The Reason Comes. And it just so happens to be this one! If it -IS- in anyway connected, it would be set months, maybe even a year or so, after the ending. There's nothing explicitly mentioned that tie to two together, but my brain decided it was the way to go so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It had been cold. Far more bitter than Clover could recall. Which, for a man vastly acclimatised to the harsh winters in Solitas, meant that it felt unusual to feel the prickle of temperature across his skin.

His aura was sturdier than most when it came to resisting the icy chill of the outside world, and he was certainly  _ never  _ going to resort to layering up unless it was absolutely dire situation.

The wind was another story altogether, and out on the tundra, he almost felt the shiver tear through him as snow was whipped about exposed skin.

No, he never really felt the cold, but lately the winters had been getting... worse.

Which made it thrice as hard to rouse his slumbering bird when it came time to get up in the mornings.

The smile crossed his lips as he made his way to the kitchen, feet padding over dark tile as one hand scratched idly at his bare chest. Breakfast had been a social affair between the two of them for some time now, but with the weather the way it had been lately... well... Qrow was sleeping later and later; regardless of what he maintained his sleeping habits were like.

Still, he had no doubt that by the time he finished cooking, there'd be a groggy huntsman dragging himself out and sleepily demanding to be fed.

His smile hitched at the memory of the sight he'd already seen so often, wringing the faint laugh from him. Much like his nieces, it seemed that Qrow was deeply accustomed to being nocturnal, no matter how much he denied it.

Fingers reached for the pantry door, pulling it open and perusing the contents. What to have for a chilly morning... He was strongly considering his staple of porridge and fruit, but Qrow would likely grumble at him for it. So. Option number two it was.

He snagged a few necessities, placing them alongside the cooktop as he headed for the fridge. Green eyes scanned over the contents, and was surprised to see a few extras that weren't there earlier. He knew Qrow had bought eggs after finishing up the previous day, but it seemed his resident chef had other ideas for later on.

Clover reached for both mushrooms and eggs, closing the fridge once more. With everything gathered, he collected a sharp knife, twirling it easily in his hand as he began dicing up what he needed.

He finished with the mushrooms, and was about to start on the tomatoes, when warm arms slipped about his waist, pulling him closer. A chin rested on his shoulder as the sleepy huntsman stared down at the assortment of produce before him.

“Omelette or breakfast stir-fry?” he murmured, voice dry from disuse, all but curling against the walking heater that was his partner.

“Oh, good guess,” Clover told him. “The second one. With scrambled eggs.”

Qrow said nothing for a moment, and – as much as it pained him to do so – withdrew from the man and his warmth, wordlessly walking to the pantry and pulling open the door. Clover could only bite back the sigh as he recognised the sleep shirt he wore, knowing he would never get it back now. Much the same as the sweatpants he'd long since stolen.

Qrow stared blearily at the space in front of him for a moment before spying what he needed, plucking one of the spice jars from the rack as he filled his other hand with an onion.

Padding back to the man, he placed his chosen prizes down next to his collection of goods. With that out of the way, he settled right back in to where he once stood, arms threading about Clover's waist and staring over his shoulder once more.

“You'll want about a quarter of that, finely diced,” he told him softly, pointing from the onion to the spice jar. “And only a few pinches of that. Do the onion for about a minute, add your mushroom and tomato and cayenne. If you use butter, you don't have to salt it.”

Clover took it all in with a soft smile, giving the huntsman a soft nuzzle.

“I'm impressed,” he told him warmly. “You managed to say all that without coffee.”

The laughter spilled from him at Qrow's soft grumble, though the huntsman didn't shy away from the soft kiss that pressed to his temple.

“Don't overcook my eggs,” the sleepy murmur came, barely managing to escape before the yawn overtook him, feeling his jaw pop with the action. “M'gonna get started on coffee.”

Arms gave a gentle squeeze about the operative's waist before slipping away once more, allowing green eyes to follow him as he wandered towards the kettle. Clover watched him blearily reach for mugs, one hand sleepily rubbing his eyes as he smacked the button.

His smile broadened as he went back to finishing his task. No, Qrow was never a morning person when it was cold. Which, given his current residence, it seemed he would  _ never _ go back to being a morning person.

The cupboard next to him opened again, closing with a sleepy grumble as he moved onto the next. The disgruntled sigh fell from the huntsman's lips as shoulders fell.

“We're out of coffee...” he all but groaned. Green eyes blinked back at him, running his last shopping trip through his head. Apparently there was less in the jar than he thought.

“Well... there's still plenty of tea,” he offered, gesturing lightly with the knife.

“But it's not coffee.”

The soft whine brought the laugh to his lips, and Clover turned back to the last of his dicing. “Suffer through a mug of tea with me, and we'll go out for coffee afterwards,” he replied simply, sliding sliced tomatoes into a bowl.

Qrow's sigh could have brought Atlas to the ground with how heavy it was, and it took everything Clover had not to snort in laughter at the poor thing.

“ _ Fine... _ ” he groaned, reaching for the tea canister instead.

The operative said nothing else as he continued to hear the tired mutterings from his bird, and the silence otherwise enveloped them. It lingered comfortably between them; the sounds of the morning the only punctuation to their sentences.

Qrow placed a mug alongside the cooktop as he slid into place behind his personal heater once more, resting his cheek on the curve of a shoulder, wanting to bury himself in the feeling of warmth for the rest of the morning; coffee be damned. The soft sizzle of butter began to tickle his senses, and there was a sharp hiss as ingredients began to make their way into the pan.

The aroma soon flooded over him and he sighed in heavy contentment against Clover's back.

“No going to sleep back there,” came the gentle chide as the operative quickly stirred the contents of the pan.

“S'comfy...” the murmur fell onto his skin.

Clover withdrew a hand to give one of the ones wrapped about him a faint squeeze. “Go put some toast on. I'll get started on the eggs.” He gave that hand a gentle pat.

“You're so bossy lately, ugh,” Qrow replied with a faint smile, sliding away from him to stand alongside him, one arm still about his waist.

“And you need to stop hibernating on me,” Clover told him, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Go. Before you curl up next to the pan” The huntsman gave a soft laugh at that, leaning against him for a moment. He stepped away to give a languid stretch, arms raising high above his head as he felt joints pop lightly, muscles straining for a moment.

With a heavy huff, he dropped his arms to his side once more, feeling a little more awake as he padded over to the toaster. Clover finished stirring the first part of their breakfast, and scooped it back into its waiting bowl. Skilled fingers plucked out eggs one by one, cracking them easily into the pan and stirring them roughly.

With a dash of milk from their not-so-successful coffee run, he kept stirring until the mess began to firm up. As it sat and cooked, he began putting a few of the things away, and fingers were just about to leave the little spice bottle when he realised he hadn't used any of it yet.

Green eyes glanced back at the eggs, and he gave a faint shrug to himself. Well, at least it'd still taste good in there, he mused, and he added a bit to the pan, stirring it through.

The toaster popped, and Qrow blinked himself awake from where he'd just been staring into space. He snatched up his mug, taking a hearty swig as fingers extracted toast onto a waiting plate, heading back to where Clover stood. The operative scooped scrambled eggs onto waiting plates, adding the rest of their savoury stir-fry alongside it, and Qrow nestled toast slices next to the lot.

“Not bad,” Clover said simply, glancing up at red eyes. “Let's go eat. Then we can go get you caffeinated.”

The half-hearted smile found it's way easily to lips. “Mmf... fine,” he breathed.

The operative returned the easy smile as he watched him for a moment, and he couldn't stop the soft sigh that fell from him. His little bird was slowly waking up, but there was still a part of him that was firmly back in bed and snoring hard. He reached for him, slipping an arm about his waist and pulling him flush to his side.

“Hey, no coffee until you can form complete sentences,” he told him.

Qrow clinked his mug to the countertop, turning red eyes to glare unconvincingly at the man. “That's extortion and it's mean.”

“Oh, getting close,” Clover praised softly, drawing him further into a proper embrace, wrapping warm arms about him. There was a sleepy huff of a laugh against his shoulder, and arms found their way about his waist.

Silence slipped about them, time ticking on with the distant sound of a clock, and Clover found himself suddenly content with the way the huntsman stood against him, breathing deeply against the curve of his neck. A soft murmur fell from him as he closed his eyes, letting his temple rest on dark hair.

How easy it would be to spend the morning just like this...

Fingers traced lazily along the huntsman's spine, mapping out the faint freckles he knew lay beneath fabric. The breathy drag of a groan met his ears at the action, and Clover couldn't help the smile at the sound. It really didn't take much at all to wring the sound from the huntsman and he already knew all of his favourites.

The quiet slip of a sigh as fingers kneaded deep into shoulders. The soft draw of breath as kisses traced down an angry red scar. The faint groan against an open mouth. The sharp and hushed hiss as fingers tended ever so gently to wounds. The playful sigh of exasperation that usually came his way thanks to a terribly timed pun.

The bright sound of laughter unbridled, as pure as a silver bell as it wrapped its way through his very expression and left him shining like the very sun.

He knew each of them so intimately, and wanted little else than to know how many more remained undiscovered.

Green eyes slivered open, knowing breakfast was waiting for them, but oh, it was so hard to part from this.

Maybe now he really understood the sleepy warmth the huntsman craved when it was cold.

The smile pulled softly at his lips, and he drew back lightly to press a lingering kiss to dark hair, nuzzling the shell of his ear.

“Breakfast time, little bird...” he breathed.

The weary grumble rolled against his skin. “Feed me...”

Clover couldn't stop the spill of laughter if he tried. “I draw the line at that, you baby.” He drew back from him fully, hands curling about biceps and waiting for those red eyes to open once more. Qrow did so, blinking blearily at him as if he'd only just woken back up. Which, to be fair, had already happened about half a dozen times already.

A hand reached up, brushing the backs of fingers against his cheek, and the huntsman sighed against the simple touch.

“Alright, alright... waking up...” he murmured, knowing he had to extract himself from the feeling, or he really  _ would _ fall asleep where he stood. It still didn't stop him from leaning into the warmth of those fingers, one hand reaching up on pure instinct to curl about it, trapping it's warmth against his skin.

Oh, but he could stay curled within the warmth of that touch for eternity.

Qrow drew in a languid breath, feeling himself slipping under once more. Yet it wasn't sleep that called to him; though slumber would be all but wonderful right where he stood.

It was the warmth that curled its way through his chest, settling deep into his bones and keeping him exactly where he stood. It was in the way fingers still held him gently, warming his the skin of his arm through the fabric of his shirt. It was in the warm smile that met his as he glanced back up at green eyes again. It was in so many ways at once and altogether not enough.

There had been so many words created to tell him what he already knew. But words were messy, and never enough for what he wanted to say.

The smile settled on his lips. He far preferred actions to words any day.

Fingers brushed away from where they rested upon Clover's own, reaching for the broad expanse of chest before him, seeking that warmth as he grazed over smooth skin. Further upwards they travelled, across his sternum and the the hollow of his throat, red eyes following the almost lazy path they took.

His other hand joined the first, finding the column of his neck and resting gently there, feeling warmth and that steady beat beneath fingertips. Clover closed his eyes at the gentleness in the touch, all thoughts of breakfast somewhat forgotten as his own hands slipped downwards, settling about a waist in a loose embrace.

There came a soft brush against his lips and he parted them faintly, feeling warmth ghost across skin. It was a movement unhurried, and he indulged in it. Oh, but to stay there for all eternity, warmth at his fingertips and the huntsman curled within his arms.

“... breakfast...”

The breath of a word against him had green eyes opening once more.

Dark brows rose lightly in a pointed motion.

“...  _ coffee _ ...”

Clover's lips curled to a soft smile, and he drew up to brush them against a forehead, a lingering kiss to smooth skin.

“So impatient...” he breathed, amusement running through him. Nonetheless, he drew back, fingers brushing away from skin to stare at the huntsman for a moment. He reached a hand up, quickly ruffling that dark mess of hair, and he was promptly swatted away as sharp protest found his ears.

“You are the worst!” Qrow snapped as the operative stepped back out of attack range. His fingers were already up, threading through his hair and sorting out what damage had been done.

Not that there was much hope when it came to the constant state of Qrow's hair.

The heavy sigh fell from his lips and he glared back at the man. Well, he certainly  _ felt  _ more awake now. Even if it had been a dirty tactic.

“You need to stop hanging out with Yang,” he groused, dropping his hands and reaching for both plate and mug. Clover raised his brows at the words, easy smile reaching his lips as he did the same, and they walked to the dining table together.

“Oh, I believe I picked that up from you,” he countered simply.

“I do not-”

The words halted on his tongue as he sharply realised how often Clover had seen him do it do Ruby when she was being a brat. And also to Yang moment's before the scuffle broke out. Oscar, too, when the boy thought no one caught the faint glint of sadness in his smile. Jaune, when the two of them were goofing around in the arena. Nora copped it. Blake copped it. And the two girls both laughed as the huntsman joined in.

Weiss, too, caught the bratty ruffle of fingers through her hair, and even though she laughed and laughed like the very sun, it always wound up with the huntsman helping to smooth and straighten and re-braid flowing silver.

Qrow gave a heavy sigh as realisation sunk deep into his bones, placing his breakfast down and sliding into the chair, one leg tucked up underneath him.

“Fine, alright. You got it from me,” he conceded, digging into a forkful of eggs.

Clover could only smile at him in smug satisfaction, taking a sip from his tea. “That wasn't so hard to admit...” he murmured. “Though I am surprised you've never tried it with me.”

The huntsman gave him a brief shrug, chewing around his mouthful. “No fun in it; yours never goes flat. No point if I can't ruin your hairstyle completely.”

Green eyes closed as he lingered on the edge of his mug once more. “I'd rather  _ you _ ruin me instead...” the breath slipped from him.

In a heartbeat there was a clatter of cutlery as Qrow's fork hit the plate, and he was coughing sharply into his hand after nearly inhaling his mouthful. Clover almost couldn't hold back the soft snorting laughter that threatened to break from him, shaking through his shoulders as he tried not to let it consume him.

He had to put his mug back down, lest he spill it everywhere, and the snuffling giggles still threatened to bubble from him entirely, forcing him to bring a hand to his mouth to stifle it somewhat.

Qrow had dislodged the last of his mouthful, and he was whacking his chest lightly, unable to stop the sudden roll of laughter that hit him full force. Gods above, but his throat still burned and he hadn't expected that at  _ all. _ He gave another sharp cough through his laughing, clearing his throat as the broad smile sat easy upon his entire expression.

“Gods, warn a guy next time...” he breathed, voice rough and he cleared it again. He didn't even know where to  _ start _ with that, save for the utterly obvious. Then again, it wasn't as if his filter worked even  _ with _ caffeine in his system.

He collected his fork once more, lightly scooping his eggs together on his plate as Clover slowly came back down from his giddy mirth.

“I mean... buy me coffee first and I'll see what I can arrange,” he replied, unable to hold a straight face nor stop the snuffle of giggles slipping out once more. Clover broke entirely, raucous laughter tearing free as he leant back in his seat, chest already nearly aching with the effort it took to breathe through it.

All thoughts of breakfast and sleepiness were utterly erased as they sat there, dissolving entirely to the laughter that rang about the apartment, blanketing them, wrapping about them so tight they both felt they would burst.

The operative reached up with one hand, giggles still spilling from him as he wiped the corner of his eyes, feeling almost breathless from the simple exchange. Truly, it hadn't been his intention at  _ all _ to say such a thing, but Qrow had the worst habit of leaving himself entirely open sometimes. Perhaps he  _ was _ spending too much time around Yang, if his terrible sense of humour was anything to go by.

Qrow would certainly agree to that.

The huntsman himself was still coming down from his high, and he gave his chest a final thwap with a closed fist, clearing his throat lightly. The breathy laugh still spilled from him, and he reached for his tea, still feeling his throat catch a little even through his mirth. Oh he was going to pay for that one later.

“So,” Clover picked at his breakfast once again, smile still firmly in his eyes. “Is that a promise?” he asked, a forkful of food popping into his mouth. The huntsman met those eyes briefly, and he couldn't help the smile upon his lips as he went back to his own plate, stirring lightly.

“For a good, strong coffee? I think right now I'd say yes to anything,” he answered simply.

The operative bit back the wince. “Ouch, here I thought you actually liked me,” he complained in mock offence. Qrow gave a snort of a laugh at that, taking another few bites of his breakfast.

“Joke's on you,” he replied, finally swallowing. “I only like you for your food.”

Red eyes landed firmly on Clover's, and the man looked almost hurt for a moment. A fork gestured idly in the air as Qrow thought about his answer some more, unable to stop his smile from hitching at the corners.

“Or maybe for the fact you're the warmest thing in existence, which makes mornings here bearable,” he added, counting the list off in his head. “Maybe because you're the only person who knows what my favourite kind of candy actually is. It might even be because you know how to service and repair Harbinger.”

Clover tilted his head towards him hopefully. “Not at all because you love me?”

Qrow felt his smile warm. “Not at all because I love you.”

The operative gave a brief sigh of relief, and he dug through his plate. “Thank goodness for that,” he breathed. “Wouldn't want you going and getting sappy on me.”

Bright laughter burst from the huntsman and he could only shake his head at him, digging in to the remains of his breakfast. He was utterly glad such exchanges had wormed their way into his life after so long. He knew it had been a long time coming, and for the rest of his family, it had been a long exercise in holding their collective breaths when they first started dancing around this relationship of theirs.

Months, he had to remind himself. For months, they had seen the two of them side-step, or dodge, or hesitate, and yet it had only taken a gentle push for things to change. For something to alter. For motion to simply start revolving in a different direction, and he was utterly grateful for it.

Probably even moreso than his family.

Clover, too, he was sure felt much the same as himself. Something that should probably never have happened, and yet luck itself decided to step into the quiet space between them. For once in his life, luck had been ever so kind instead of bitterly cruel, and he'd found a new beginning.

In probably the coldest place on the whole gods forsaken world, but a new beginning nonetheless.

The smile played faint on his lips as he savoured the last of his tea, placing the mug to the side and spearing the last of his eggs. Though, he did have to admit, he really  _ did _ like Clover's cooking.

“Someone was hungry,” Clover murmured about his mug. The huntsman gave an unapologetic shrug as he finished off the last of his breakfast. He collected everything together on his plate as he stood, leaning down to place lips to brunet hair.

“Because I know what happens next...” he breathed into it. Before the operative had a chance to react, Qrow whipped his free hand up to ruffle short hair impossibly, and the huntsman stepped deftly out of striking range. Clover nearly coughed into the last of his tea as he tried to duck out of the way, swatting up at him blindly.

The huntsman could only laugh at him as he walked away, smile firmly on his expression as he placed his goods in the sink. Red eyes glanced up at the man, and the snort of his own laughter tore free again.

Clover's once impeccable quaff lay scattered in every which direction, looking for all the world like his own dark locks. He couldn't help the soft roll of laughter as the operative turned in his chair to give him a withering stare, resisting the urge to sigh at him. Qrow placed his hands on his hips, devilish smirk crossing his lips as he met those eyes.

“Look at that, I  _ can  _ ruin you completely...”

Clover  _ did _ sigh at him that time, and he held his composure for a moment as he rolled eyes skywards. He could only smile to himself as he scooped up his own empty plate and mug, wandering towards the huntsman and sliding in next to him to place his goods down.

“You're such a brat...” he breathed, fingers threading through the huntsman's hair to settle at the back of his head.

Qrow could only smirk back at him, red eyes downright sparkling at him as fingers found their way to his cheek.

“Mm... I'm your brat though,” he responded without hesitation, his other hand joining the first. “And I want coffee.”

Clover smiled as foreheads met, fingers curling lightly in dark hair. Without a breath of warning, a dish cloth thwapped up against Qrow's cheek, and he all but squawked at the sensation as he scrambled away from it, catching it out of pure reaction.

“Dishes first, brat,” Clover told him warmly, as if he didn't just throw the thing at him. “I'm hitting the showers,  _ then  _ we head out.” Lips pecked him briefly on the lips before slipping away, heading back to their bedroom.

Qrow all but scowled at him as he walked away. “I take back every nice thing I just said to you,” he called after him, earning him a disappearing laugh, even as fingers reached for the hot water tap. He sighed to himself, smile returning to him easily as he shrugged his shoulder against a cheek, wiping the water off.

He really was utterly glad at how things had turned. At how things had settled. At how normalcy had crept into both their lives.

Once, not so long ago, he would've thought this kind of life lost to him. Like he didn't deserve such a thing. That such happiness or pure contentedness were far out of reach for his hand. Yet as he stood with his hand outstretched, fingers had found his own, curling tight and pulling him close.

It was a terrifying thing at first, and it had taken him more than enough time to get used to the idea of that kind of vulnerability. The longer it brokered between them, the easier it became, and like a simple melody of repetition, the two of them found the reason in their song and the assuredness in their footing.

Red eyes glanced up briefly to where the operative last stood, and his smile warmed as he returned to the task at hand.

They'd even picked up each other's habits and occasional words, especially if the morning was any indication. He knew just how deep it ran, and he didn't even have to think about the way synchronicity seemed to come so easily to them. Whether it be on the field, or simply moving about one another, there was a rhythm to all they did, and it often caught others offguard with how well they seemed to mesh and blend.

Much like his niece and her partner, Qrow tended to pair with the man during missions, and there was an unspoken language to how they worked together. Simple glances, subtle movements, the tightening of fingers on a weapon... all things that spoke deep volumes to the other.

He closed his eyes briefly, mind already wandering the vast library of details he knew about the man, and he gave a quiet hum. Red eyes stared down at soapy dishes and the grin split across his lips.

Now he had one more footnote to add to it, and he  _ thoroughly _ looked forward to destroying that perfect hair at every opportunity he could. Still, he had to behave for the time being, especially since Clover now firmly knew it as well.

Coffee would be his only priority for now, though.

Ruining  _ would  _ come later.


End file.
